I, You, We
by Val-Creative
Summary: She's been seeing ghosts. -Real- ghosts. Faces that don't resemble hers in the mirror, or voices and sounds that have no place and yet fill Mila's ears (a -rock concert- blaring in an empty, unlit road). /Sense8 AU. Sara/Mila/Anya/Isabella. Oneshot.


**.**

 **.**

She's been seeing ghosts. _Real_ ghosts.

Faces that don't resemble hers in the mirror, or voices and sounds that have no place and yet fill Mila's ears (a _rock concert_ blaring in an empty, unlit road).

One moment, she's sitting by a rain-slick gutter, lighting her cigarette in the moon's wan — the next, Mila gapes and finds herself surrounded by humid, open-air daylight.

The park's grass is sweet-smelling and green between Mila's fingers. A girl flies by, _dancing_ on top of a skateboard. Long, midnight-dark hair blows across a tan face and luminescent violet eyes. Mila _feels_ the warm breeze catching the girl's billowing, white tee-shirt, against her bare, slim legs.

She feels it all like the girl _is_ her.

Mila shuts her eyes, grimacing.

Darkness greets her, when she reopens her eyes, along with the faint glow of Russia's moon. Cold rain still drips into the gutter's slits, leaking beneath Mila's combat boots.

 **.**

 **.**

It _must_ be her pregnant brain, Isabella tells herself nervously.

Why else would she be hallucinating — and not just people, but _sensations_? There's no way she can be lounging peacefully in a gilded hotel's pool, right in the middle of Minsk in Belarus, while also vomiting up a helping of burnt toast into JJ's toilet in Quebec…?

"I don't understand…" Isabella murmurs, placing her chin on the seat's edge.

Turquoise-colored water reaches up to her shoulders. Her patterned, pink blouse and jeans sopping wet.

The girl beside her — _Anya_ — eyes Isabella cautiously.

"Flu?" she asks, her lipstick-stained red lips tugging downwards. Isabella almost answers her before looking down at herself and gasping. Anya's two-piece, low-cut bathing suit is now on _her_ body, the little bulge of Isabella's round tummy poking out.

"Oh," Anya says, wrinkling her nose as if displeased. "That's unfortunate."

Isabella makes an offended noise, clenching her fists underwater. "My _fiance_ and I are thrilled to be parents," she snaps. "What have _you_ done with your life?"

"Nothing, and I like it that way."

It's _less_ harsh how she says it, as a playful glint materializes into Anya's dark brown eyes. She splashes the other girl lightly, taking off towards the other end of the pool. Isabella squawks, pushing her wet, cropped bangs out of her face, chasing after her with a laughing shout.

 **.**

 **.**

It's becoming obvious… the visits are getting more frequent, _stronger_.

Sara tilts her head down, gazing enraptured at clear, shimmering river as the canoe drifts along. Red and orange and yellow autumn leaves twirl lazily and float along the surface.

"This is _lovely_ ," she breathes out. "I never see anything like this in Naples."

"Or in Moscow," Mila points out grinning, sitting hip-to-hip with Sara, wriggling herself closer. Their fingers bump and lace together without hesitation, seeking the lonely spaces.

Isabella stares politely confused before realizing _this_ is what she's missing. She tolerated the voices and helpless circumstances of _traveling_ unexpectedly without moving an inch, but has never fully _accepted_ these… … hallucinations? _Occurrences?_

A bond waiting to be melded between _all_ of them.

"I'm a little envious too," Anya whispers, her bright red, soft lips pressing to Isabella's earlobe as the other girl flushes and stammers.

"You're both ridiculous," Mila announces, coal-lined eyes narrowing. She leans over, mindful of the canoe's weight shifting, pecking her lips to Anya's mouth and giggling.

Sara does the same, giggling, but instead kisses Isabella's wind-chapped lips.

A _tingle_ zaps through them, just as it had Mila and Anya, flaming right into their chests. "None of us are imagining this," Anya tells everyone, combing her fingers gently into Isabella's hair as the other girl sighs dreamily and rests her head to the crook of Anya's neck.

Murmurs of agreement.

They're _not_ ghosts — not to each other.

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 _Yuri on Ice isn't mine. It's Day 5 of Yoi Poly Ships Week on Tumblr! Which means "Fluff" and that's what we're getting today! I needed an excuse for femslash poly/ot4 especially in this fandom and I hope anyone peeking in has a good time reading. It's teeny but you know w/e. Thoughts and comments appreciated!  
_


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